ue. . .
No! Thursday--Mancini, Queen of France! (almost!)
Friday, the Monglat to Count Fiesque said--'Yes!'
And Saturday the twenty-sixth. . .

(He closes his eyes. His head falls forward. Silence.)

ROXANE (surprised at his voice ceasing, turns round, looks at him, and rising,
terrified):
He swoons!
(She runs toward him crying):
Cyrano!

CYRANO (opening his eyes, in an unconcerned voice):
What is this?
(He sees Roxane bending over him, and, hastily pressing his hat on his head,
and shrinking back in his chair):
Nay, on my word
'Tis nothing! Let me be!

ROXANE:
But. . .

CYRANO:
That old wound
Of Arras, sometimes,--as you know. . .

ROXANE:
Dear friend!

CYRANO:
'Tis nothing, 'twill pass soon;
(He smiles with an effort):
See!--it has passed!

ROXANE:
Each of us has his wound; ay, I have mine,--
Never healed up--not healed yet, my old wound!
(She puts her hand on her breast):
'Tis here, beneath this letter brown with age,
All stained with tear-drops, and still stained with blood.

(Twilight begins to fall.)

CYRANO:
His letter! Ah! you promised me one day
That I should read it.

ROXANE:
What would you?--His letter?

CYRANO:
Yes, I would fain,--to-day. . .

ROXANE (giving the bag hung at her neck):
See! here it is!

CYRANO (taking it):
Have I your leave to open?

ROXANE:
Open--read!

(She comes back to her tapestry frame, folds it up, sorts her wools.)

CYRANO (reading):
'Roxane, adieu! I soon must die!
This very night, beloved; and I
Feel my soul heavy with love untold.
I die! No more, as in days of old,
My loving, longing eyes will feast
On your least gesture--ay, the least!
I mind me the way you touch your cheek
With your finger, softly, as you speak!
Ah me! I know that gesture well!
My heart cries out!--I cry "Farewell"!'

ROXANE:
But how you read that letter! One would think. . .

CYRANO (continuing to read):
'My life, my love, my jewel, my sweet,
My heart has been yours in every beat!'

(The shades of evening fall imperceptibly.)

ROXANE:
You read in such a voice--so strange--and yet--
It is not the first time I hear that voice!

(She comes nearer very softly, without his perceiving it, passes behind his
chair, and, noiselessly leaning over him, looks at the letter. The darkness
deepens.)

CYRANO:
'Here, dying, and there, in the land on high,
I am he who loved, who